


Immaculate

by Merit



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Barre Work, Coach Victor Nikiforov, Grimdark, Hair Braiding, Inappropriate Behavior, M/M, Not Nice Victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:38:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: Victor, living legend, suffers a career ending injury at the Grand Prix. There's no banquet. Instead Victor has to face his legend being overcome and there's nothing he can do about it but to make it strong and better, sharper and brighter.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unheroics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unheroics/gifts).



Everyone was watching when Victor fell.

The crowds rushed forward, screaming, discordant wailing over the music that continued to play. With dozens of people suddenly standing before him, Yuri couldn't see a thing. The hair on the back of his head stood up on end, a cold sweat breaking on his spine.

He growled, jumping to his feet, trying to wriggle his way through the crowds. The music screeched to a halt and soon the entire rink was filled with worried whispering. The announcers had been silent, but now they noted, solemnly, that emergency services would be entering the rink shortly, if everyone could return to their seats -

Yuri surged through the final line of people, gasping as the edge of the rink hit his midsection. He hovered over the edge, hands scrambling for purchase. As he righted himself he looked up and saw Victor.

He was sprawled across the ice, hand out stretched, head thrown back. Even in repose he was dramatic and beautiful, icy and remote. Yuri's heart leapt in his chest as the bright red blood started to stretch across the ice, finding every nook and cranny that skates had driven into the ice.

Victor didn't get to his feet.

 

* * *

 

Victor came out of the doctor's office, shrugging off Yakov, Georgi, the rest of the skaters that swarmed around him whenever he visited the rink. His hair fell over his face, longer than it ever had been since his dramatic haircut all those years ago. His dark trench coat stood out in contrast to the skaters, the coaches and everyone else that cringed as he shook his head, the smile on his face could have been painted on.

Yuri watched from a distance, pulling his hair back in a tight ponytail. Victor paused, staring across at him. Yuri met his gaze, lifting his chin defiantly. He knew exactly what the doctor had said to Victor.

_You'll never skate professionally again._

He had said it before to Victor. At first Victor had laughed, throwing the words away. He had returned to the ice, Yakov watching from the sidelines, mouth white. When he moved, it was a shell of his former grace, a beat behind the music. He attempted a jump and it wasn't even a full rotation. He landed badly, one hand touching the ice. Victor had bent over his knees, breathing heavily, the entire rink silent, a hush in a cathedral.

He'd been angry, next. They'd all been told their careers would be finished if they ever leaked a word, never mind a picture, of his rages. None of them would have, but. Yakov had kept the junior skaters away from the rink for a few days after that.

Now he smiled brightly, teeth glinting like knife in the night, as if the news didn't hurt him.

He walked over to Yuri now, a slow, determined pace that sent other skaters, coaches scattering out of his path. The smile was fixed on his face like a foreign object.

When he reached Yuri, he tilted his head, regarding him. Then he reached over and grasped his head, tilting his chin back. Yuri was forced on his toes, as Victor peered deeply into his eyes. His body was stretched toward Victor, his back arched, every part of him moving into Victor's orbit. Then he pulled, Yuri's hair coming out quickly of his ponytail, falling around his face.

“You have to be gentle,” Victor said, hand a vice on Yuri's arm as he turned him around. He ran his fingers through Yuri's hair, knots unraveling under his touch. Victor braided his hair, humming a tune. It took a few moments for Yuri to place it, consumed with his own racing heart beat, but then it was all suddenly so clear.

Victor had won the Grand Prix Junior Championships with this song.

 

* * *

 

“Further,” Victor said softly, pressing a hand against his lower back, breath hot on his neck. Yuri grimaced, pain already lighting up his legs, his spine. His hands clench on the barre, his face reflected back a thousand times in the mirrors. There's a low ache in his spine, his arms felt heavy. But he stretched further, foot arced above his head, Victor's hands moving to his hips and settling there.

There's no one else in the practice room. The sun set hours ago. Yuri almost felt dizzy under the bright lights. But it could also be because Victor was behind him, his thumb stroking his jutting hip bone, where his shirt had risen up.

Yuri exhaled, his leg coming down slowly. When he has his footing, he started to turn, but Victor tugged his hips closer. Their bodies rest against each other, Victor taller than him. Yuri had yet to reach his growth spurt, a worry that itched into his flesh, dug into his bones. Victor's hips bracketed his, his body warm despite the fact he'd only been directing Yuri. Victor nuzzled his hair, mouth twisting into something that could be considered a smile.

“You'll lose this,” Victor murmured, running a finger up Yuri's spine, “All this youthful flexibility will be gone in an instant.” He moved closer, Yuri couldn't move, not with Victor's hand on his hip, fingers digging into his skin, nails sharp. “And where will you be then?”

He swallowed, throat dry.

“I'm going to beat your records, each and every one,” Yuri said, the words coming from far away. He meant every word.

He can see Victor's eyes in the mirror. They're bright and sharp, just a hair breath away from cutting into him. Victor stepped forward, pressing him against the barre. Yuri's hands fly up, he clutched at the barre, watching Victor grasp one of his legs and then -

Yuri gasped, panting as Victor twisted his body into an even more extreme contortion.

“You'll want to be better than me,” Victor said.

“I will,” Yuri ground out, tears springing to the corners of his eyes.

“Good,” Victor said, his voice coming from far away. Then his hands drop and he stepped away from Yuri. He nearly keened at the loss, absence setting into his bones. His pose shifted, almost losing his grace, but Victor's still watching him. Victor's eyes are on him and Yuri started to straighten his spine, rotate his leg further out. “You'll have to be.”

 

* * *

 

Yuri's breaths were coming out in short, shallow gasps.

The night sky is dark through the rink's windows. The bright lights almost make Yuri giddy as he skated to the edge of the rink. Rink time was viciously fought over, determined by rank and cunning. It might be late, he legs might be trembling but he'd had the rink to himself for two whole hours.

His fingers were shaking, tiredness sinking deep into his bones but after his practice Yuri felt a step closer to victory, to the best Senior debut _anyone_ had ever seen. He smiled, bright and giddy, performing several slow laps of the rink before launching himself into a triple toe loop.

He started when he heard someone clapping. Frowned when he saw it was Victor, silver hair luminescent under the lights. He leaned forward, gloved hands, fingers spread wide.

“You're up late,” Yuri said, he touched his hair, pushing it away from his eyes.

Victor tilted his head, light touching his hair.

“Your last landing was terrible,” he said, smiling, the words tearing jagged marks into Yuri's flesh. Yuri tensed, shoulders arched. He skated slowly over to Victor, listening to the criticism mixed with praise. As he reached the edge, Victor was silent, gaze pensive. He reached over, hand touching the edge of Yuri's hair. “You're growing it out,” he murmured, fingers trailing through his hair.

“You liked it,” Yuri said and blanched backwards, a red blush heating up his cheeks. For a moment Victor looked surprised before a mask filtered over his features again. He smiled, the charming national hero, even though he couldn't skate again, not like a hero he was supposed to be forever.

“I did, didn't I,” Victor said, eyes lowering down Yuri's form. “You're such a beautiful youth, the judges, the crowds, they won't be able to tear their eyes away from you.”

Yuri was silent.

“And tonight you'll come home with me,” Victor said, sounding almost distracted, but he had never asked, never invited Yuri to come over to his apartment before. No one Yuri knew had been there, maybe Yakov, but he wasn't a skater, he was a coach and Yuri was -

“Okay,” he said.

And the smile Victor gave him was brighter than the sun.

 

* * *

 

The light was filtering through the sheer curtains in Victor's bedroom, stabbing at Yuri's eyes. He groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes. His body ached and for a moment he regretted it - the long hours devoted to skating, the bruises that lined his body, the isolation, the fear, the demands of a country peering through narrow eyes.

“Shh,” Victor murmured, running his fingers through his hair and after a pause, Yuri relaxed. He smiled, sheets hiding it from Victor, arching up into his touch. Victor chuckled, the sheets rustling as he shifted. Yuri cracked opened his eyes and Victor was watching him, an amused expression on his face.

“Morning,” Yuri said.

“Afternoon almost,” Victor said, lazily stretching, long limbs elegantly responding. Yuri's gaze traveled his body. He had hardly seen it last night, been thrust against a wall, his jeans dragged off his body, Victor's hand on him, Victor's mouth at his throat. Victor was still beautiful, but he wasn't competition weight, his hips rounder than they had been before his accident. Yuri's body still felt electric, watching him.

Then he blinked. “Afternoon?” Yakov was going to kill him.

“Oh I told Yakov I've taken you out for some personal training,” Victor said, eyelids lowering, eyes shining.

Yuri hissed through his teeth, sitting, pulling his legs up. They protested, a large bruise on his hip screaming. He hadn't iced it last night. He hadn't done any of his post training exercises. Victor hadn't mentioned it and he'd been so rushed, chasing after Victor.

“So tense,” Victor said, the sheet dipping lower. Yuri's lips parted and Victor laughed.

Their bodies fell together and Yuri closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again he was starving and Victor was browsing through his phone. He sat up, about to suggest getting something when the opening chords of Victor's last Free Skate. He stilled.

But the sound was distorted, coming through crackly and small. It wasn't a professional video. Yuri edged closer, breathing slowly, peering over Victor's arm to look at the screen.

It wasn't Victor skating.

It was -

Yuuri Katsuki.

Yuri's toes curled against the sheets, a heavy feeling in his stomach, acid rising at the back of his throat. He watched, marveling at the beauty of Yuuri's grace, his strength, the vulnerability in his face as he approached the camera.

When it ended, the focus shifting and dropping away from the ice, Yuri breathed out slowly. His gaze flickered up to Victor, who was staring transfixed at the screen, eyes lit up.

“I remember him,” Victor said, distantly, “He performed dreadfully at the Grand Prix. I'd been looking forward to skating against him but,” he shook his head, pausing the next video from autoplaying and dropping the phone to the sheets.

Victor stared down at his body, an unknowable expression on his face.

“Do you know what happened to him?”

Yuri licked his lips, throat suddenly dry. “He – he performed badly at the Japanese Nationals, didn't qualify for Worlds,” he said quietly. And something was wrong and he didn't know what to do because Victor was there, right there next to him, but it felt like he was thousands of miles away.

“There's something about his skating,” Victor said, “Something exciting.”

And Yuri felt even smaller, limbs awkwardly splayed, hair in his eyes. He breathed in, harshly, as Victor got to his feet. Victor stretched, peering through his window, glorious and naked and so far away.

Victor started when he looked back at his bed, looking surprised that Yuri was still there. Yuri curled up, tucking his legs together, wrapping his arms around his body.

“You'd better go,” Victor said, almost kind.

Yuri nodded and his clothes weren't in the bedroom and Victor was watching him. He flashed Victor a sharp grin.

“I'm going to be better than all of you,” Yuri declared, standing up, his body protesting, his mind screaming.

Victor's eyes were distant.

He didn't say goodbye when Yuri left.


End file.
